


Harry’s Drunken Birthday

by Duchess_of_Strumpetness



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Birthday Blues, Depression, Gen, Mention of Past Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-19 00:49:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20200978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duchess_of_Strumpetness/pseuds/Duchess_of_Strumpetness
Summary: Harry’s birthday does not bring happy memories, rather it sends him into a deep depression. Ron finds his drunk friend in a bar and takes him home to sleep it off.This story has not been beta’d and hits very close to home as my birthday also sends me into a deep depression, I would rather just forget all about it.





	Harry’s Drunken Birthday

Harry nodded absently to the barmaid as she put another drink in front of him and half-heartedly wiped the table with a grubby rag she pulled out of her back pocket. It was the typical filthy muggle pub where so long as you kept paying, they’d keep serving you, no questions asked. It was exactly the sort of grubby dive that Harry found himself in more and more often. 

“Happy birthday to me,” he muttered, writing in the grime-covered tabletop. His depression had taken a firm hold. He’d suffered from it his whole life and had become apt at hiding it from everyone around him. Even his best friends had no idea the darkness he fell into, on a regular basis. 

His birthday was the worst, he covered it up and could get away with a happy facade, but that was all it was. He’d had it drummed into his head since he was a child that his birth was not something worth celebrating. He’d never told anyone, but he loathed being sung bloody happy birthday. He could remember listening to Petunia and Vernon singing it repeatedly to Dudley every birthday as his pile of presents grew larger and larger and his birthday cake more and more elaborate, yet Harry’s birthday passed without comment or celebration.

This year was worse than most, he was thirty bloody nine years old and still alone. No one to go home to, no one to cuddle up with on the lounge and watch muggle television. No one to make love with on a Sunday morning. Hell, he didn’t even have anyone to argue with, stupid as that sounded. The loneliness threatened to bubble up and drown him again.

Throwing back the rest of his scotch, Harry signalled for another one. He’d lost count of how many drinks he’d had. His vision was blurry without his glasses, they were on the table in front of him, so he missed seeing Ron walk into the bar, look around the mostly empty room and his gaze finally settled on Harry. 

Ron was not as unobservant as people thought he was, he could see the sadness in Harry’s eyes when he came around for dinner, spent time with his nieces and nephews, watched those around him get married, and he was still alone. Oh, he’d had relationships of course but they had all been more interested in _ The Boy Who Lived _, than Harry himself.

“Hey Harry,” Ron said clapping his hand on his best friend’s shoulder and sliding into the booth on the other side of the grubby table. Watery, red, bloodshot eyes finally settled on Ron and Harry gave him a half-hearted smile. 

“Hey Ron,” Harry slurred, even without his glasses, he’d know that silhouette anywhere. They had shared a dorm room since they were eleven, and then the Horcrux hunt, so they were used to living in each other’s pockets.

Ron nodded to the barmaid for a drink. He’d already told Hermione he was going to find Harry and take him home and that he would not be home tonight, Harry needed him.

They sat in silence for a while, getting steadier drunker and drunker. Ron knew he’d regret this tomorrow, but tonight his best friend needed him. Harry looked a wreck; it was clear he had not bathed in days and his clothes were rumpled as if he’d slept in them.

“Harry, no!” Ron said sternly, placing his hand over Harry’s as he started to pick at the ugly, ragged scar on the inside of his left wrist. “Don’t” The misery on Harry’s face broke Ron’s heart.

“Talk to me Harry, what’s wrong,” Ron asked taking Harry’s hands in his and holding them tightly. Harry didn’t try to pull away, just stared at their joined hands and Ron was content to give him time to get his thoughts in order.

“I’m so lonely Ron,” Harry finally admitted “Everyone has someone except me,” Harry looked up, and the tears finally broke free and rolled down Harry’s cheeks, splashing onto their hands. “I want what you and Hermione have, a home, a family. Someone to come home to.” Angrily Harry pulled his hand out of Ron’s and wiped at his eyes. “Sorry” he muttered, feeling foolish.

“Harry, you’ve nothing to be sorry about, we all want someone in our lives,” the barmaid had given up and just left the bottle, so Ron poured them both another drink and pushed it across the table. “You have a lot of people in your life who love you,” Harry opened his mouth to speak but Ron cut him off “I know it’s not the same, but you are loved.”

Nodding slowly Harry left his tears flow, he knew in his heart that Ron was right, but sometimes it all became too much, the silent flat, the heated up meal for one, feeling like an afterthought when he was invited to his friends’ houses for mid-week dinners, which he knew wasn’t fair, but sometimes he just couldn’t help it.

“Your birthday?” Ron asked, knowing how much Harry dreaded his birthday each year. Harry just nodded, sniffling and wiping his nose on his sleeve, reminding Ron of Rose and Hugo when they were smaller.

“That and the day my parents were murdered, two dates I’d rather forget, does that sound childish?” Harry asked, pulling his hand free and throwing back his drink, Ron was getting blurrier and blurrier by the minute.

“Nah, you’ve been through more in your life than most of us have Harry, you’ve got the right to be childish now and again, but from now on we’re going to give you good memories for your birthday, and when your parents died.”

Harry squinted up at his best friend, slightly puzzled by the determined tone in Ron’s voice. Too many people underestimated Ron, to their regret. He wasn’t academic like Hermione but he was far from stupid.

“I think I’m drunk,” Harry slurred as his bladder made itself know to Ron’s bark of laughter.

“I _ know _ you’re drunk, come on the bathroom first then let’s get you home,” helping Harry to his feet, Ron guided him to the bathroom and then to the closest apparition point.

Harry woke the next morning with a throbbing head and a mouth like the bottom of Hedwig’s cage, carefully opening his eyes he noted the curtains were drawn but in the dim room, he could see Ron asleep in the chair in the corner.

Smiling a real smile for the first time in weeks, Harry threw back the phial of hangover potion and thanked Merlin that he’d run into the Weasley’s on his first day at Hogwarts all those years ago, he dreaded to think what his life would be like without his adopted family as a huge part of it. 


End file.
